#27 -- Parents GW/Halloweentown High
Title: Nope, Not Real
Author: silvercaladan
Fandom: Gundam Wing/Halloweentown High
Word Count: 2191
Challenge: #27 -- Parents
Rating: Rish
A/N: Yes, I am aware this is a cross with a crappy, clichéd Disney movie. Live with it. The character, hell, even the plot probably doesn’t resemble what you’d expect from the movie. But then, I’ve always thought Disney was shit at bringing their own ideas (especially recently) to life. Ethan Dalloway has so much more depth and potential than he gets credit for.
Nope, Not Real
Crazy men no longer startle me. I live and fight and laugh with so many, after all, that abnormal has become normal in my autobiography. Heero’s idea of caring about someone is to imply that he’d kill you on a moment’s notice and then steal from your smoking suit. But only to keep you protected, of course. Bastard needs his head rewired on that one. Trowa gets knives thrown at him, stands in cages with dangerous cats that could rend him limb from limb, and fights as a mercenary. ‘nough said. Wufei has obsession problems, and Quatre is the leader of a major corporation. My entire inner circle is totally batty.
It doesn’t help that I travel through such wide social circles and such distant places that if I haven’t seen it yet, it probably doesn’t exist, and can’t startle me. I’ve seen everything.
Which is totally why witches aren’t real. I would have run into one before now.
Yep.
“No self-respecting witch would chant anything so utterly asinine over a potion like that!”
I almost pity the director. But hey, that’s what he gets for not choosing Hamlet so I could be the crazy!man himself. Macbeth is a darker play, and it doesn’t even have the joy of a senseless graveyard scene where the main character makes dark jokes about death. Because of the moron’s folly, we get a blonde, sharply-cut Macbeth who insists that the director has everything wrong.
“Ethan, look, for the last time, that’s what the script says, and that’s what Shakespeare wrote. We’re not changing it because you’re Wiccan or whatever that religion is. You auditioned for the role of Macbeth, and you got it, now would you please just say your lines and stop undermining classic literature?” The director is almost on his knees, pleading, now. Ethan looks on with a disgusted gaze.
I chuckle from side-stage, bedecked in my wonderful ghost attire (being Banquo), and the gaze drifts towards me. I meet his narrowed, judgmental eyes straight on. I’ve got nothing to hide, aside from, well, the utterly obvious. But I hide that by being an extrovert. No one suspects that the friendliest guy in school is really plotting how to annihilate the nearby production plant, nope.
Just like no one would suspect the snobbish, arrogant lead in the newest play to be a witch.
Nope.
I think the crazy might be catching. I swear, if it weren’t for all the weird things this kid does, he’d completely fit in with Relena’s courtiers, and I deal with them enough that it’s nothing unusual.
Last week, during rehearsal, he was actually drinking out of the not-so-fake-anymore goblet on stage. I tried some of what was left over. Tasted worse than some of those radioactive energy drinks. Point is, though, where did he get it, right there onstage? I know for a fact that goblet was plastic. Was being the operative term.
Ethan’s done other suspicious things. I’d think he was some sort of... I don’t know, plant from the other side of the moon, or an orphan from L2, considering some of the stuff he hasn’t known about. But what would one of those be doing here, in a generic All-American High School?
No, of course I don’t count. My situation is abnormal. There can’t be that many teenage terrorists running around mysteriously and randomly wreaking havoc.
His situation is more abnormal. I mean, just the other day, he had to ask that girl that’s always sitting in the audience watching him what a “google” was. How out of touch can one person be?!
Just for a change from this utter non-knowledge, the entire cast was lectured on the “proper ceremonial athame” yesterday. Apparently, the prop crew’s cheap steel dagger and plastic handle were offensive to His Wiccanship.
Ethan finished his lines, and stalked off-stage, headed straight for my position behind the curtains. Hoo-boy. Damage control time. Teenagers can be so pissy.
“So are you really Wiccan?” I interrupt him before he can get started on some sort of rant. Always a good idea with people who like to hear themselves talk, and you get more answers that way, unbalancing them.
“I have no idea what that is, so no.” Whoa. Can we say shocker? He fits the profile for it, ranting about accurate witching practices and stuff. Eh. I should know better than to profile crazy people.
“Wiccans practice ritual magic. How else would you know all about the procedures?” Oho. He looks uncomfortable with this train of discussion. Very interesting. And scary, cause it might mean something new combined with all of my previous observations. God I hope I’m wrong and there really isn’t magic. That would just take the paranoia alarms to new, unobtainable heights.
...If Heero knows about this already and didn’t share, I will do something worse than putting rat poison in his food.
Bastard probably already uses magic. Where else does he hide that stupid gun?
“It’s just an interesting subject for me, that’s all.” Replied a little too late, and you know it, don’t you? He blows past me, headed towards the dressing room, and I follow, intrigued.
“Some ‘interesting subject’. I’d say you’d be able to write a master’s on it and get your PhD.” He gives me a confused look, and my God it is hard to carry on a conversation with a nitwit. I elaborate without him having to ask, just so we can move along a little bit quicker. “A college degree? Y’know, a sheet of paper that certifies that you know a lot about absolutely nothing?”
“Right.” Great. One word answers always signify one of two things: total confusion or total annoyance. Moving on...
“Where are you from, anyway?”
He stands in front of the mirror, doing something that can only be described as preening. I think I’m being ignored.
“Canada.” Ethan says it as if still testing the word out. He’s not from there, obviously. Granted, the first day I’d heard there was a country named Zimbabwe, I went around saying it all sorts of weird ways. Who didn’t?
“Right.” Correction: one of three indications by one word answers.
Ethan starts gracefully untying the ties and buttons on his old style costume, which is another point in the weirdo column, as far as I’m concerned. No matter how many plays I’m in, the buttons never come undone without a minute of fumbling. I undress, too, shedding the sneeze-inducing, cheaply dyed garments. This school so needs a better drama budget.
“You’ve got an amazing amount of scars for a teenage boy.” Ethan gazes at me in the mirror, through narrowed eyes and a smirk.
Oh. Oh shit. Most people don’t notice that because they don’t want to feel compelled to mention them. Guys just don’t remark on that, too afraid of being seen as homosexual. I’ve never had to worry about hiding in a changing room. Teenage guys are remarkably self-centered.
But Ethan, the arrogant bastard, knows that I’ve scored a point against his flimsy cover story, and now he’s found one on mine.
Fuck.
Cool, suave Duo, where are you when I need you? “Really? I wouldn’t know. I don’t go around comparing my skin to other guys’. Besides, I’ve got something of a rash nature. Climb enough things, play with enough experimental fireworks, anyone could accumulate this many scars.” Low blow, but in survival, all things are allowed.
Ethan eyes me again, and does something that on the only other natural (*coughnotrelenacough*) blonde I know would make me paralyzed in fear: he chuckles.
I hop up on the counter, forcing him to actually look at me instead of my distorted mirror reflection. I don’t trust mirrors. They can do too many things, nowadays, to really give you an accurate picture.
“Let’s cut the crap, shall we? You’re not just the co-heartthrob of the theatre department in this backwards little prison masquerading as a school, and I’m not just the friendly, goofy theatre dork who just happens to be utterly sexy.”
Ethan jumps, and looks like he’s about to deny it, but gets smarter and says nothing. Good boy. We don’t want to stop Shinigami mid-rant, no we don’t. “I don’t care what your problem is, but being so stand-offish is really making people talk about how fucking arrogant you are. Eventually, someone is going to stop buying that Canada crap, and you’ll have a witch-hunt on your hands.” Purposeful choice of words, and it certainly gets a reaction out of him.
“They wouldn’t stand a chance.” He sounds so superior. Shit. I like the kid, I don’t want to see him fall.
“Are you sure about that? These are the same kids that you suffer through Trig with, the same kids that do all of your lighting and sound work. Would you really be able to fight them off?” Ruthlessness: 1. Overconfidence: 0.
“Same applies for them, you know. What’s to say they’d really want to attack the kid they ask for help on their English homework?” I hate it when people poke holes in my utterly sound logic.
“Touché.” I nod my head in acknowledgement, and search for my next words. Great time for extroversion to fail me.
Silence extends, as he studies me. I meet his gaze; if I can’t think of any words, I can at least convey my meaning. You could cut the tension between us with Ethan’s precious athame.
“You’re nothing I expected a human to be.”
That fastball came so out of left-field that my brain processed only the word “human”. I sputtered, at a loss. No previous experience with good ole homo sapiens? “What?”
“I expected humans to be callous, crude, backwards creatures who can’t even brush their own hair. I was right, but you’re the first one that’s proved to be worthy of further conversation.”
“Well. That was a half-assed compliment if I’ve ever heard one. But let me get this straight: you’re not human, and you’ve never really met one.”
“Would you like to be a chicken? I’ve always wondered what it was like to be a chicken.” Oh God. Witch boy is teasing me. I can see that malicious light in his eyes that means I’m going to have to pull out the big guns.
“You are a cruel, despicable person, Ethan Dalloway, and I wholly admire you for it. But I think you would make a good Ouroboros.”
“And be eternally damned to eat my own tail? Hardly. Disgusting symbol, that. Why would one use such a revolting means to portray the endless cycle of life and death? Then again, the image of phoenix fat bubbling into nothingness only to coalesce again is just as disturbing.”
“Aren’t all symbols, when you get right down to it? This cross around my neck is the symbol of a man being brutally murdered and cruelly tortured because the crowd demanded it for their pleasure.” Ethan peers closely at the emblematic golden cross around my neck, and looks up at me, expression unreadable.
“Yes, and life can be stripped down to that very quality, as well. You haven’t freaked out, yet. Are you sure you’re processing what I’m telling you correctly? I’m a warlock, Duo Maxwell, and I could kill you where you stand with a twitchy thought.”
Utterly serious now, I nod, thoughtfully. “I could kick and embed my toes in your jugular, certainly enough to disrupt blood flow. Or I could go straight for your dick and incapacitate you. It doesn’t matter, but I can think of several ways to knock you unconscious before your reaction times would catch up, and then I’m free to do whatever I wish. So, no, I don’t think I’ll be freaking out.”
As if in a daze, Ethan mumbled, “Father always said humans wouldn’t understand, that they were skittish, superstitious creatures that would as soon burn me as coerce me.”
“Your dad’s wrong, dude. Abnormal things throw most people for a loop, but they recover pretty damn quick. It’s how we managed to survive as a race, actually. Sheer adaptability. I just happen to have it in spades.”
“Right.” Again with the one-word answers. Madre de Dios, this poor word is getting past its usefulness. “You’re not exactly a normal boy. I doubt that’ll apply to anyone else.”
“Well... you’ve got me there. But hey, fledgling warlock o’mine, you’ve got me on your side, and I’m more dangerous than a mob of drunkards.” I struck a pose, and Ethan laughed. The first true laugh I’d heard from him in all our association. I had to join in. Okay, so it was the slightly hysterical laughter of an adrenaline crash, but we’d both managed to survive without permanent brain damage.
“As my first human friend, then, you’ll have to explain to me what the hell a ‘rave’ is. I was invited to one by this blundering thing of a girl who could scarcely speak for all her giggling.”
“Tsk, tsk, Ethan, there is so much of your education that is lacking.”
“I’ll bet you can’t conjure a girl you’re flirting with her favorite flowers.”
“...I hate you.”
This is what one site had to say about the character:
[ETHAN DALLOWAY] 14, a cute but insecure warlock, the loyal son of Edgar, he is
one of the visiting Hallowteentown kids who shows an aptitude for the theatre
department. He uses his acting skills to help his father by trapping his friend, Cassie,
in a witch glass. But Ethan ultimately sides with Marnie against Edgar, choosing
instead to stay in the human world
This is what I have to say about the character:
Ethan Dalloway: A somewhat uppity warlock from Halloweentown, his dad is one of the council members and just an all-round bad guy. Ethan was raised to believe the two worlds should be utterly separate, and that he is far better than anything human. But he’s willing to give all that stuff a chance, and eventually decides that his father is utterly wrong. I’ve always wondered what made him change his mind... Anyway, Ethan can be snobbish, but he has a real talent for acting, and is genuinely upset with his father for being a moron, though he lets his concerns get overridden. Ethan’s quite powerful, and more than little smart, but hey, with your scary dad always over your shoulder, just waiting to beat you down for messing up even a little… who’d do well? He’s far older than 14, by the way. Disney just puts the character at that age to make its target audience identify. Think 17, 18.
P.S. No, Ethan does not trap Cassie in a witching glass. His father does. The glass merely belongs to Ethan.
This picture is merely of the actor, Lucas Grabeel. Ethan Dalloway himself would not dress like that, nor appear in a court room. Duh.
Author: silvercaladan
Fandom: Gundam Wing/Halloweentown High
Word Count: 2191
Challenge: #27 -- Parents
Rating: Rish
A/N: Yes, I am aware this is a cross with a crappy, clichéd Disney movie. Live with it. The character, hell, even the plot probably doesn’t resemble what you’d expect from the movie. But then, I’ve always thought Disney was shit at bringing their own ideas (especially recently) to life. Ethan Dalloway has so much more depth and potential than he gets credit for.
Nope, Not Real
Crazy men no longer startle me. I live and fight and laugh with so many, after all, that abnormal has become normal in my autobiography. Heero’s idea of caring about someone is to imply that he’d kill you on a moment’s notice and then steal from your smoking suit. But only to keep you protected, of course. Bastard needs his head rewired on that one. Trowa gets knives thrown at him, stands in cages with dangerous cats that could rend him limb from limb, and fights as a mercenary. ‘nough said. Wufei has obsession problems, and Quatre is the leader of a major corporation. My entire inner circle is totally batty.
It doesn’t help that I travel through such wide social circles and such distant places that if I haven’t seen it yet, it probably doesn’t exist, and can’t startle me. I’ve seen everything.
Which is totally why witches aren’t real. I would have run into one before now.
Yep.
“No self-respecting witch would chant anything so utterly asinine over a potion like that!”
I almost pity the director. But hey, that’s what he gets for not choosing Hamlet so I could be the crazy!man himself. Macbeth is a darker play, and it doesn’t even have the joy of a senseless graveyard scene where the main character makes dark jokes about death. Because of the moron’s folly, we get a blonde, sharply-cut Macbeth who insists that the director has everything wrong.
“Ethan, look, for the last time, that’s what the script says, and that’s what Shakespeare wrote. We’re not changing it because you’re Wiccan or whatever that religion is. You auditioned for the role of Macbeth, and you got it, now would you please just say your lines and stop undermining classic literature?” The director is almost on his knees, pleading, now. Ethan looks on with a disgusted gaze.
I chuckle from side-stage, bedecked in my wonderful ghost attire (being Banquo), and the gaze drifts towards me. I meet his narrowed, judgmental eyes straight on. I’ve got nothing to hide, aside from, well, the utterly obvious. But I hide that by being an extrovert. No one suspects that the friendliest guy in school is really plotting how to annihilate the nearby production plant, nope.
Just like no one would suspect the snobbish, arrogant lead in the newest play to be a witch.
Nope.
I think the crazy might be catching. I swear, if it weren’t for all the weird things this kid does, he’d completely fit in with Relena’s courtiers, and I deal with them enough that it’s nothing unusual.
Last week, during rehearsal, he was actually drinking out of the not-so-fake-anymore goblet on stage. I tried some of what was left over. Tasted worse than some of those radioactive energy drinks. Point is, though, where did he get it, right there onstage? I know for a fact that goblet was plastic. Was being the operative term.
Ethan’s done other suspicious things. I’d think he was some sort of... I don’t know, plant from the other side of the moon, or an orphan from L2, considering some of the stuff he hasn’t known about. But what would one of those be doing here, in a generic All-American High School?
No, of course I don’t count. My situation is abnormal. There can’t be that many teenage terrorists running around mysteriously and randomly wreaking havoc.
His situation is more abnormal. I mean, just the other day, he had to ask that girl that’s always sitting in the audience watching him what a “google” was. How out of touch can one person be?!
Just for a change from this utter non-knowledge, the entire cast was lectured on the “proper ceremonial athame” yesterday. Apparently, the prop crew’s cheap steel dagger and plastic handle were offensive to His Wiccanship.
Ethan finished his lines, and stalked off-stage, headed straight for my position behind the curtains. Hoo-boy. Damage control time. Teenagers can be so pissy.
“So are you really Wiccan?” I interrupt him before he can get started on some sort of rant. Always a good idea with people who like to hear themselves talk, and you get more answers that way, unbalancing them.
“I have no idea what that is, so no.” Whoa. Can we say shocker? He fits the profile for it, ranting about accurate witching practices and stuff. Eh. I should know better than to profile crazy people.
“Wiccans practice ritual magic. How else would you know all about the procedures?” Oho. He looks uncomfortable with this train of discussion. Very interesting. And scary, cause it might mean something new combined with all of my previous observations. God I hope I’m wrong and there really isn’t magic. That would just take the paranoia alarms to new, unobtainable heights.
...If Heero knows about this already and didn’t share, I will do something worse than putting rat poison in his food.
Bastard probably already uses magic. Where else does he hide that stupid gun?
“It’s just an interesting subject for me, that’s all.” Replied a little too late, and you know it, don’t you? He blows past me, headed towards the dressing room, and I follow, intrigued.
“Some ‘interesting subject’. I’d say you’d be able to write a master’s on it and get your PhD.” He gives me a confused look, and my God it is hard to carry on a conversation with a nitwit. I elaborate without him having to ask, just so we can move along a little bit quicker. “A college degree? Y’know, a sheet of paper that certifies that you know a lot about absolutely nothing?”
“Right.” Great. One word answers always signify one of two things: total confusion or total annoyance. Moving on...
“Where are you from, anyway?”
He stands in front of the mirror, doing something that can only be described as preening. I think I’m being ignored.
“Canada.” Ethan says it as if still testing the word out. He’s not from there, obviously. Granted, the first day I’d heard there was a country named Zimbabwe, I went around saying it all sorts of weird ways. Who didn’t?
“Right.” Correction: one of three indications by one word answers.
Ethan starts gracefully untying the ties and buttons on his old style costume, which is another point in the weirdo column, as far as I’m concerned. No matter how many plays I’m in, the buttons never come undone without a minute of fumbling. I undress, too, shedding the sneeze-inducing, cheaply dyed garments. This school so needs a better drama budget.
“You’ve got an amazing amount of scars for a teenage boy.” Ethan gazes at me in the mirror, through narrowed eyes and a smirk.
Oh. Oh shit. Most people don’t notice that because they don’t want to feel compelled to mention them. Guys just don’t remark on that, too afraid of being seen as homosexual. I’ve never had to worry about hiding in a changing room. Teenage guys are remarkably self-centered.
But Ethan, the arrogant bastard, knows that I’ve scored a point against his flimsy cover story, and now he’s found one on mine.
Fuck.
Cool, suave Duo, where are you when I need you? “Really? I wouldn’t know. I don’t go around comparing my skin to other guys’. Besides, I’ve got something of a rash nature. Climb enough things, play with enough experimental fireworks, anyone could accumulate this many scars.” Low blow, but in survival, all things are allowed.
Ethan eyes me again, and does something that on the only other natural (*coughnotrelenacough*) blonde I know would make me paralyzed in fear: he chuckles.
I hop up on the counter, forcing him to actually look at me instead of my distorted mirror reflection. I don’t trust mirrors. They can do too many things, nowadays, to really give you an accurate picture.
“Let’s cut the crap, shall we? You’re not just the co-heartthrob of the theatre department in this backwards little prison masquerading as a school, and I’m not just the friendly, goofy theatre dork who just happens to be utterly sexy.”
Ethan jumps, and looks like he’s about to deny it, but gets smarter and says nothing. Good boy. We don’t want to stop Shinigami mid-rant, no we don’t. “I don’t care what your problem is, but being so stand-offish is really making people talk about how fucking arrogant you are. Eventually, someone is going to stop buying that Canada crap, and you’ll have a witch-hunt on your hands.” Purposeful choice of words, and it certainly gets a reaction out of him.
“They wouldn’t stand a chance.” He sounds so superior. Shit. I like the kid, I don’t want to see him fall.
“Are you sure about that? These are the same kids that you suffer through Trig with, the same kids that do all of your lighting and sound work. Would you really be able to fight them off?” Ruthlessness: 1. Overconfidence: 0.
“Same applies for them, you know. What’s to say they’d really want to attack the kid they ask for help on their English homework?” I hate it when people poke holes in my utterly sound logic.
“Touché.” I nod my head in acknowledgement, and search for my next words. Great time for extroversion to fail me.
Silence extends, as he studies me. I meet his gaze; if I can’t think of any words, I can at least convey my meaning. You could cut the tension between us with Ethan’s precious athame.
“You’re nothing I expected a human to be.”
That fastball came so out of left-field that my brain processed only the word “human”. I sputtered, at a loss. No previous experience with good ole homo sapiens? “What?”
“I expected humans to be callous, crude, backwards creatures who can’t even brush their own hair. I was right, but you’re the first one that’s proved to be worthy of further conversation.”
“Well. That was a half-assed compliment if I’ve ever heard one. But let me get this straight: you’re not human, and you’ve never really met one.”
“Would you like to be a chicken? I’ve always wondered what it was like to be a chicken.” Oh God. Witch boy is teasing me. I can see that malicious light in his eyes that means I’m going to have to pull out the big guns.
“You are a cruel, despicable person, Ethan Dalloway, and I wholly admire you for it. But I think you would make a good Ouroboros.”
“And be eternally damned to eat my own tail? Hardly. Disgusting symbol, that. Why would one use such a revolting means to portray the endless cycle of life and death? Then again, the image of phoenix fat bubbling into nothingness only to coalesce again is just as disturbing.”
“Aren’t all symbols, when you get right down to it? This cross around my neck is the symbol of a man being brutally murdered and cruelly tortured because the crowd demanded it for their pleasure.” Ethan peers closely at the emblematic golden cross around my neck, and looks up at me, expression unreadable.
“Yes, and life can be stripped down to that very quality, as well. You haven’t freaked out, yet. Are you sure you’re processing what I’m telling you correctly? I’m a warlock, Duo Maxwell, and I could kill you where you stand with a twitchy thought.”
Utterly serious now, I nod, thoughtfully. “I could kick and embed my toes in your jugular, certainly enough to disrupt blood flow. Or I could go straight for your dick and incapacitate you. It doesn’t matter, but I can think of several ways to knock you unconscious before your reaction times would catch up, and then I’m free to do whatever I wish. So, no, I don’t think I’ll be freaking out.”
As if in a daze, Ethan mumbled, “Father always said humans wouldn’t understand, that they were skittish, superstitious creatures that would as soon burn me as coerce me.”
“Your dad’s wrong, dude. Abnormal things throw most people for a loop, but they recover pretty damn quick. It’s how we managed to survive as a race, actually. Sheer adaptability. I just happen to have it in spades.”
“Right.” Again with the one-word answers. Madre de Dios, this poor word is getting past its usefulness. “You’re not exactly a normal boy. I doubt that’ll apply to anyone else.”
“Well... you’ve got me there. But hey, fledgling warlock o’mine, you’ve got me on your side, and I’m more dangerous than a mob of drunkards.” I struck a pose, and Ethan laughed. The first true laugh I’d heard from him in all our association. I had to join in. Okay, so it was the slightly hysterical laughter of an adrenaline crash, but we’d both managed to survive without permanent brain damage.
“As my first human friend, then, you’ll have to explain to me what the hell a ‘rave’ is. I was invited to one by this blundering thing of a girl who could scarcely speak for all her giggling.”
“Tsk, tsk, Ethan, there is so much of your education that is lacking.”
“I’ll bet you can’t conjure a girl you’re flirting with her favorite flowers.”
“...I hate you.”
This is what one site had to say about the character:
[ETHAN DALLOWAY] 14, a cute but insecure warlock, the loyal son of Edgar, he is
one of the visiting Hallowteentown kids who shows an aptitude for the theatre
department. He uses his acting skills to help his father by trapping his friend, Cassie,
in a witch glass. But Ethan ultimately sides with Marnie against Edgar, choosing
instead to stay in the human world
This is what I have to say about the character:
Ethan Dalloway: A somewhat uppity warlock from Halloweentown, his dad is one of the council members and just an all-round bad guy. Ethan was raised to believe the two worlds should be utterly separate, and that he is far better than anything human. But he’s willing to give all that stuff a chance, and eventually decides that his father is utterly wrong. I’ve always wondered what made him change his mind... Anyway, Ethan can be snobbish, but he has a real talent for acting, and is genuinely upset with his father for being a moron, though he lets his concerns get overridden. Ethan’s quite powerful, and more than little smart, but hey, with your scary dad always over your shoulder, just waiting to beat you down for messing up even a little… who’d do well? He’s far older than 14, by the way. Disney just puts the character at that age to make its target audience identify. Think 17, 18.
P.S. No, Ethan does not trap Cassie in a witching glass. His father does. The glass merely belongs to Ethan.
This picture is merely of the actor, Lucas Grabeel. Ethan Dalloway himself would not dress like that, nor appear in a court room. Duh.